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Sunday, March 27, 2022

Daughter Warrior 2.0

A princess

Must orient

Contrite. Even if.

Her bride’s choice, her


By heist or landgrab.

Whatever. Never recovers.

She’s sent from

Place to place. No invoice.

No good

To some father

Or real amour, nevertheless or else suitable with every one other accompanied by fine.

Itinerant isthmus inside a frock,

A roving celibate.

Maybe better to exist stuck accompanied by someone.

So she takes a little hike

Into the woods.

Fasts until she’s pure

And communes accompanied by the fluid

Deities. Is granted

A boon, for sure,

A higher-ranking destiny,

After another thousand moons

Of austerities.

Whereby, recusing herself

From the estranged

Landmass altogether,

She erupts into flame,

Briefly flicks

Out of spacetime,

Then skids into

Another womb,

A majestic gate,

Next door to the first horror,

Where some ultra-rich father


The birth of a champion

To avenge the petty

Squabbles of his estate.

The father is somewhat thrilled

To consequence a warrior

Kid accompanied by real skills,

Though the weird male child fair can’t relate

To the father’s boring rants with every one other accompanied by tirades

Against other neighboring fools.

The father is fair a tool

To provide righteous cover with every one other accompanied by fuel

For the warrior’s mighty self-will

To gut the system from within,

To gut a system that would let

A princess spin

Out from the real order

Of things

Without remedy or recourse

In an number of years when warriors rule,

In an number of years when warriors eviscerate

The earth.

Even if a princess tin only curse,

Through the epigenetic


Of rebirth,

She tin nurse her hurt

To prophecy:

To military grade.

Swipe the soil

Of this society.

Serve the dystopia

With blades.

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Truth hurts! Nothing is perfect, life is messy. Relationship are complex. Outcomes are uncertain, people are irrational.


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